Captain of the Guard
by you-animal
Summary: Helwen, Daughter of Brandor, Captain of the Guard of Minas Tirith, is given the duty of protecting Lord Boromir as he takes the journey to Imladris and joins the Fellowship of the Ring. As Mordor's darkness spreads she struggles to hold on to who she is, and to avoid falling for someone she can never have. Legolas/OC


**A/N:**

So this story begins again! If you read the previous version you will notice some changes – most obviously, Helwyn is now Helwen. The same, really, but since my last update I've researched more into the correct way to name people in Middle-Earth – Helwen is actually the correct spelling of her name. I've also altered the names of her parents.

This time, I've begun Helwen's story a little earlier. I'm hoping this will make her a more well-rounded character, as you will be able to see her life pre-fellowship.

For new readers - I am fully aware that in Gondor women would not be soldiers. However, I am evoking artistic licence and dragging Tolkien's world into the modern day a little. Please assume that it is perfectly normal for women to fight alongside men in my version of this story.

For this story I will be mainly following the movie version, but I will be adding in details from the books as much as possible – for example, we will be following the book timeline. The reason for this is that the movies are much simpler and right now I don't have the time to go as in-depth as the books do about everything, no matter how much I might want to.

Updates will be slow because Uni life is crazy. I'm not a great writer, I do this for fun only, but hopefully you guys can help me out and let me know what works, what doesn't, and want you'd like to see.

Thank you for reading!

B.

* * *

**June 20****th**** 3018**

The cheers rose up as Lord Boromir stepped up high above the crowd, the rubble of the once beautiful city of Osgiliath at his feet. Above him the sky was grey with obsessive cloud and below him the men were stained with blood and dirt, but in his arms he held the banner of Gondor - and his face was alight with the fierce joy of victory.

The men and women who had fought under his command chanted his name with something akin to reverence, for this was the Captain-General of Minas Tirith, the Steward Heir to Gondor, leader of men. Here was the epitome of a true Gondorian warrior - with his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his wild hair and his body still clad in battle-worn armour. Here was the man so beloved by his people.

In response to their calls, Lord Boromir lowered the flag and unsheathed his sword.

"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more!" His voice was strong and the passion in it infected every man. He thrust his sword above his head and cheers rose up with it, "let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands!"

The men and women cried their agreement, swords banging onto shields, booted feet stamping. Lord Boromir drew himself up and shouted for all to hear, "this city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor!"

"For Gondor!"

Lord Boromir held up his sword again, and despite the dullness of the day the steel was bright and true. "For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!"

The Captian-General stepped down as the crowd descended into general boisterous chatter. Seeing my chance, I hurriedly pushed through the throng of people, watching my Lord hug his brother tightly, laughing and exchanging words. Around me the soldiers were greeting comrades they'd thought lost on the field, congratulating their friends, recounting their tales of the battle, loud and joyful and full of intense relief. No-one called out to me, though all moved aside to allow my passage with a respectful nod that I returned. Each face I saw was a comfort to me, for it was one more of my Guard who had made it through this fight alive.

"Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!" Lord Boromir was calling as I reached them, grin wide and welcoming. Lord Faramir was also smiling, though his happiness was more reserved. Still, in this moment, both were at one with the men and women they lead despite their positions, and they would be accepted into the ranks to celebrate with ease.

"My Lords," I bowed to them, though the formal gesture was at odds with my battle-worn appearance. Certainly I would not be allowed in the courts of Minas Tirith in such disarray. "Please forgive my interruption."

"Captain!" Lord Boromir greeted delightedly, reaching over to clasp my shoulder. Lord Faramir inclined his head to acknowledge me, smiling in welcome. "Come, drink with us! Without you this victory would not be ours."

An exaggeration, of course, but I appreciated it nonetheless. Lord Boromir was handed goblets of ale which he passed along to myself and his brother before taking a healthy drink of his own. I accepted mine, though I knew I would not drink of it. I had a feeling my work was not yet over.

"My Lord, I have come to inform you that the camp must still be set for this eve and the injured arranged into proper accommodations," I reported promptly.

Lord Boromir waved his hand dismissively, "our men can sort their themselves out for one night, and tonight is not a night for sleep in any case! As for the injured, I highly doubt you did not already have a system set up for their care during the battle itself?"

"Of course I did, my Lord," I admitted, but I had arranged it to work during the chaos of the fight, and with peace came a different set of challenges that would have to be worked out to ensure the healing tent worked most efficiently.

"Is it not sufficient now?" Lord Boromir questioned, raising his eyebrows.

I frowned, "it is not as well organised as it could be, and –"

Lord Boromir cut off my words with a laugh, "ah, Helwen! I can assure you that whatever you have already put in place will be better the Houses of Healing themselves! I know you too well to doubt it."

For a moment I considered arguing – there were several changes I would dearly have liked to make – but I could see that this was one argument Lord Boromir was determined to win. With a sigh, I accepted, "I am grateful for you confidence in my abilities, my Lord. However, there is one more pressing concern I should like to address."

Lord Boromir exchanged and amused look with his brother, before replying, "very well, Captain. What is it that does not meet your exacting standards?"

I hesitated briefly, for it was not a topic my Lord would want to hear, but it had to be broached, "the bodies must yet be cleared and documented, my Lord."

At the mention of the dead, a little of the light in Lord Boromir's expression faded. As much as I disliked to ruin his joy, it was my duty to see that the necessary steps were taken. Should the bodies be left they would only fester and spread disease – and those men who had fallen deserved more than to be left to rot.

"Is there not time enough on the 'morrow for such somber deeds and melancholy?" Lord Boromir demanded harshly. "For Valar's sake, let the men celebrate in peace for one night! Perhaps you should join them, Helwen – then you may find your own joy for once."

I could think of no reply. Lord Boromir's eyes blazed with his anger, which as always had been so quick to light. The tension was thick and uncomfortable. The pause could not have been more than a moment, but suddenly his face seemed to soften again and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, his name was called, and with brief hesitation he stepped away to answer.

"You know it is always hard for him, to think of the men lost," Lord Faramir spoke gently, his grey eyes kind, a half-apology for his brother. I had always liked Lord Faramir, he was calm and level-headed where Lord Boromir was brash and lead by emotion. It was, in some ways, much easier to converse with him.

"I know, my Lord," I answered somewhat tersely, an automatic defensive response I tried to smooth over by softening my tone. "It is no matter; I will do the task myself."

The Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien frowned, "you need not take it upon yourself. You do enough."

"It must be done, my Lord, and I will have the time," I insisted. I would make time, at least.

Lord Faramir sighed and shook his head, "as you say, then, Captain. Please, do not forget to leave some time for your own enjoyment."

I did not reply, puzzling for a moment over his comment. Everything I did was for the betterment of Gondor, and I _enjoyed _devoting my life to the service of the Steward. Knowing I was protecting my beloved home and all the people who lived there was my joy. What more was there?

I was saved from further conversation by the return of Lord Boromir, whose spirits were high once again. His moods came suddenly and left just as quickly. No mention was made of his previous words and I put them out of my mind – they were born from his grief and meant nothing.

"Remember today, little brother," the Captain-General grinned, clasping Lord Faramir's shoulder. "Today, life is good."

Lord Faramir quickly regained his cheer also, and they toasted and drank deeply. It was only after the goblets had been lowered that a shadow flicked across Lord Faramir's expression.

"What?" Lord Boromir questioned laughingly, casting around for the source of his brother's wariness. All laughter quickly faded, however, when Lord Faramir gestured for his brother to turn.

"He's here."

Behind Lord Boromir, Lord Denethor was making his way through the crowd of soldiers, pausing now and again for conversation with the men and women. Most I recalled as being sons and daughters of prominent Lords and Lady's.

"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" Lord Boromir muttered, resigned. Sensing the unease, I decided that it was an appropriate time for me to depart. I would give Lord Denethor my report at a later time.

There were some things it was not my place to hear.

"My Lords, if you will pardon me, there is much to be done," I excused, bowing to them. The brothers barely noticed, Lord Faramir only sparing me the briefest glance, clearly preoccupied. I slipped away quickly, though not before I heard Lord Denethor calling for "Gondor's finest" – his first born son.

I arrived at my quarters later than intended. On my way I had made my alterations to the healing tents, despite Lord Boromir's words, and I had set two of my Commanders the task of clearing and recording the bodies. They had disliked being given the orders – they wanted to celebrate, not be forced to face the reality of our losses. Some may even having been facing friend. Still, they knew it was necessary. The bodies could not be left until the morning.

My temporary quarters were plain and bare, a single bed, desk and chair in an unadorned square room. Outside the sound of boisterous singing could be heard – some songs true ballads of victory, others simply bawdy tavern tunes that were accompanied by riotous laughter.

Inside my room all was quiet and empty. My things had been moved in – in truth I'd taken very little with me other than spare sets of clothing and other necessities. Parchment, ink and the papers I needed to read had been arranged on the desk. I sighed when I saw their disorderly state. My squire meant well, but she was not the most organised of girls.

I had barely been inside a moment when the door bust open in a flurry of activity. It did not surprise me – I had heard the thumping footsteps of Gledhedis charging up the stairs. I did not look up from the papers I was examining, but out of the corner of my eye I saw as she tripped over the threshold in her haste and narrowly avoided tumbling to the floor.

"You should have knocked," I told my squire, for perhaps the hundredth time since I'd met the girl about a month ago. She had been a last minute replacement when my previous squire was promoted to a full member. Gledhedis' position had supposedly been temporary – she had only just joined the Guard and had no real experience at all, was completely unsuitable in fact – but I just never found the time to search another out. Besides, she meant well, and she was not a slow learner.

"Forgive me, Captain," she said now, breathless from her mad dash. Her fair skin had flushed bright red with embarrassment at my reprimand and her expression was nervously contrite. "You sent for me?"

I faced her fully, taking in her state of dress. Her long, dark hair was escaping her poor attempt at a braid so that at this point, more hair was out of the braid than in it. Her tunic was the same as all members of the Guard – black and embroidered with the silver tree of Minas Tirith over the chest – but it was slightly too large for her slight frame and the silver thread of the hem was unravelling. Her boots were caked in mud and hopelessly scuffed. In short, she looked a mess, without having even taken part in the battle. Under normal circumstances I would have chastised her for such an inadequate representation of the Guard, but right then I simply did not have it in me.

"Help remove my armour," I requested instead, and she scrambled to comply immediately. This, at least, was something she now knew well how to do. The thought of her first fumbling attempts at buckling me in and out of my armour was wearying.

"Everyone is saying we won a great victory today," she ventured eagerly as she worked the leather straps. I recognised the longing in her voice from my own days of training, when the thought of battles conjured no ghosts – only excitement and wonder.

"Our victory was minor at best," I corrected sternly, unblucking my own bracers and thinking of how we had lost the Eastern shore; of the few numbers we had in comparison to the enemy. I would have spoken no more, but I could practically feel her anxiousness vibrating through the air, and when I glanced to her I saw that her brows had furrowed together deeply.

"But the bridge is destroyed, and so Gondor is safe for now," I added in reluctant reassurance. I'd kept my voice stern, trying to impress on her the seriousness of the situation, but the tension drained from her face nonetheless and she seemed happy to accept that we had triumphed.

There was silence as I was fully freed from my armour. Gledhedis placed it on its stand with utmost care, a direct contrast from her apparent disregard for her own appearance. I turned to my paperwork to being sorting though it – though I knew the silence would not last for long. I could practically hear her thinking.

"They also say – well," her words were soft and hesitant, "they say held back the hordes single-handedly to protect Lord Boromir and Lord Faramir. They say you gave us the victory, you and the Lords."

The strangeness of her hesitation caused me to look up, and what I saw in her face confused me greatly. She gazed at me with wide eyes – awestruck, almost, as if I were a great hero. I could not understand it and certainly did not want it.

"I defended our Lords while they retreated to a safe distance so the final bridge could be taken down. I did no more than the duty of the Guard," I stated firmly, and though she nodded acceptance, the look of admiration did not leave.

Time passed slowly. My work seemed endless – the stream of reports from every one of my Commanders, the lists of equipment that would need replacing, those who now needed promotion and those who would have to be disciplined or trained further. There was the finance too – the cost of the food that had been brought to feed them, the cost of the new equipment, of the medical supplies. All of it had to be budgeted. Halfway through, a messenger brought the list of the fallen to me. It had been completed quicker than expected, but then it was shorter than I had expected also. I set it aside, unable to face it right away.

When I finally set down my work, the day had grown late and what little light the cloudy day had given faded into evening. Gledhedis had finished with cleaning and had been going back and forth with messages for me. Now she wandered the room, lighting candles with a wistful look on her face as the sounds of the celebrations continued to drift in from outside. I knew they would not last much longer; soon enough talk would turn quiet and solemn. Men and women would remember the horrors of battle they had seen, and those missing would become painfully apparent.

"You have done everything needed of you today. You may go, Gledhedis,"

My squire jumped, startled after so long a silence. Her fingers fumbled with the match and nearly set her sleeve aflame. Once that danger had passed, she gave me an awkward bow, her face bright and eager, "thank you, Captain! I'll just tidy up here."

There was a clatter as she set her cleaning equipment, polish and matches aside in a haphazard pile. It was not exactly tidy but we would be leaving for Minas Tirith tomorrow so it mattered not. With another hasty bow she was out the door, the sound of her boots thundering down the stairs.

Finally, blissfully, I was alone.

I slumped in the chair. My body ached with a thousand bruises, the cut on my thigh stung fiercely under its bandage, and the muscles of my arms burned from the strain of swinging a heavy sword for so long. All of it rushed to me now I gave myself leave to feel it. The events of the day swept over me like the waves that beat the shores of Belfalas.

I was tired – so, so tired, enough to feel it down to my bones. I wanted nothing more than to sink down into the matrass of the tiny bed and not think of anything, just bask in the oblivion of sleep.

It was not just the battle, I knew, though that was exhausting enough. I could not remember when I'd last had a full night of rest. I was always waking early and sleeping late, but there was just so much to be done, so much to organise. I was accustomed to guarding against roaming bands of Orcs or Wargs, small challenges but no true threat. Then smoke had begun rising from Mordor again – and now Osgliath had fallen. For no matter how the soldiers may say it was a victory, Osgiliath had fallen. The city that had once been Gondor's capital was nothing more than ruin now.

I took a deep breath and looked at the list of names – all the men and woman who now lay cold and dead.

Most of them I would know. I would recognise their names at least, even if I could not picture them. How terrible it was that they had given up their lives to be faceless even to their own Captain. How empty their deaths seemed. I understood, completely, the resentment my Commander's felt towards me for giving them this task. To have to go through all of them as if they were nothing but numbers and names was sickening.

This was Lord Boromir's task, not mine. It was he who should be writing the endless letters to families – letters filled with meaningless words, for what did those families care about our empty condolences? He was their Captain-General. It was he they followed into battle. It was he who should struggle over every line, who should feel every name as a burning brand across his heart.

I pictured again, in my mind, the stark grief on Lord Boromir's face at the mention of the dead, and I knew I would write a thousand letters if it would spare him even a little of the pain. He was strong, a stronger leader I had never known, but he felt everything so deeply. Anger, sorrow, happiness – all straight from his soul and open in his expression for all to see. I knew that this was a burden I could bear better than he.

The door opened.

I straightened immediately, clearing my face of anything that might give away my brooding. It was Gledhedis, her face peering around the door, expression one of equal parts cautiousness and determination. In her hands she held a steaming bowl of stew and a goblet of ale.

"Sorry, Captain, I don't mean to disturb you, it's just – well – I thought I'd bring you something to eat, since you always forget."

As soon as she said it I suddenly realised that I was starving. The meagre breakfast that morn seemed days ago. She moved into the room slowly, growing more confident when I didn't stop her and crossing the room to place the meal down on the desk. It took some juggling, since there was no real clear space, and I had a feeling that my papers would once again be out of order. I did not mention it.

"Thank you, Gledhedis," I thanked her once she had finished. I paused a moment, then said, "you did well today."

The effect was startling. When Gledhedis smiled she smiled with her whole face, and now she was beaming, her eyes alight with happiness. I had never seen someone so joyous over so simple praise – really, it had barely been praise at all.

"Oh!" She squeaked, not seeming to know what to say. There was a smudge of ink on her cheek.

"Go on, now," I encouraged. She complied, hurrying out with a face still flushed with pleasure. Laughter echoed in from the streets below. In the silence of my room, I ate the stew. I drank the ale.

Then I took my list of the dead and began my letters.


End file.
